12 | CRIMSON KISS

Baekhyun

“Should we continue where we left off?” I am aware that every word came out of my own mouth but I still find myself grimacing at that realization.

I am a hopeless case. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I just keep screwing myself over by speaking before thinking. And wanting something that I shouldn’t.

“You mean—you mean with the lesson, right?” She asks and despite our distance, I see a hint of pink blotting her cheeks. I roll my eyes but only because I needed a reason to look away. Then, I laugh. “Duh? What else did you think I meant?” I reply coolly.

Okay, why am I putting on an show all of a sudden? I have really run out of ideas. There are two sides of my brain that clash together every time I am with this woman, for ’s sake.

“So, are you coming?” I ask, jerking my head on one side to motion her to get out of the car. Her eyes wander for a second before she spoke. “But we—I already—we tried earlier; I couldn’t come beca—”

“Okay, calm down. I mean come upstairs with me, you silly goose.” I clarify with widened eyes. Fine, maybe I meant that too?  

She sticks out her bottom lip in a giant pout as she pushes her glasses higher against the bridge of her nose. “Why am I always a silly goose?” She mumbles softly but I still heard it clear enough to make me smile.

She finally hops out of her car and locks it with her fob before marching in my direction.

Not saying anything anymore, I lead the way to the building. We stand side by side in front of the elevator, waiting for it to open. And I already know that this is going to take forever. The building’s elevators are . By , I mean it’s an actual hole that has a mind of its own. Like, it opens when it wants to, you know?

So, in the privacy of my own mind, I observe and admire her nicely blown-out hair. I did hear her saying that she was gonna have a haircut today. I could see the subtle difference in length but her hair is still fairly long. I like it. But then again, I think I’d like any length on her. She could be bald for all I care.

Because all I care about is her smile that I am undeniably obsessed with. I don’t think I will ever stop internally raving about her dimples. The way her eyes turn crescent when she grins. The way her small round face gets even squishier when she laughs shyly while talking to people—even though most of the time, I could tell that she’s forcing herself to laugh. Even the way she frowns or pouts when she doesn’t understand something, I love to see.

Self-loath prickles over me as I enable myself to moon over something, or someone, that I obviously can’t have. But then again, am I going to stop? I don’t think so. At this point, I don’t think I have any more control left within myself.

Anxiety settles in my chest when I welcome Soobin into my home. Not that it’s her first time. Not anymore. Thanks, Dad.  I watch nervously as she looks around, she probably didn’t have the time to really look at things when my father invited her in earlier. So, I let her do it.

It’s not like there’s anything interesting in here.

I am actually relieved that my father did a bit of cleaning before leaving. It must be because he knew Soobin might come in again.

My gaze shifts to the tidied couch where a big paper bag lays. That’s familiar. “Just a second, you can take a seat first. Here, I’ll take this.” I grab the mystery paper bag away from the couch before pushing her to sit down. I rush to the dining table to peek at what’s inside it.

Dior is written across a midnight blue-coloured box. I take the box out and open it. Then, an envelope fell on top of it. I take that one and open it.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Byun Baekhyun.

From: Mrs. Lee Mooyeon.

Okay, seriously? I don’t know whether to laugh or get tremendously pissed off from this. Why? Because it’s not my ing birthday. There must be some kind of mistake here. The last time I remember, I came out of this ’s . I’m pretty sure she’d at least remember when my birthday is because she sends me a gift every year. I mean, her assistant does but still, that’s pretty much the same.

This has to be a big mistake. Unless she decided to give me the gift three months in advance? But for what reason though?

I open the box and another envelope sticks on the lid of it—but this time, it has Dior written on it. I open it and it looks like a handwritten letter but a very very nice one—almost in print if you’d ask me—but the name says To Mr. Seo Minjun

And Seo Minjun is my birth mother’s one and only son with her husband. From what I see on TV, not that I religiously update myself, Minjun is starting to venture into modelling. Good for him. Again, not that I care.

“Baekhyun, is everything okay?” Soobin’s soft voice shakes me off the deep thoughts.

I briefly look at her over my shoulder before getting back to the box. I clump the layers of thin paper covering the content of the box and I see a tote bag that matches the whole aesthetic of the box. Then, under it, I see a white T-shirt. Nothing special, just a shirt that’s—

Okay, this is hella ing sheer. What is this, a fishnet of some sort?

How is this a shirt?

“Okay, no, thank you.” I shake my head in second-hand embarrassment—for Seo Minjun who obviously received this originally—before putting the shirt back into the box. Two reasons: One, I’m not accepting a gift that was probably just grabbed from a pile of brand gifts that family gets because of their status. Two, I am not wearing any ing see-through t-shirt because it totally defeats the purpose of a shirt, hence its pure irrelevance to my comfort.

Although, my clients would probably like this and I might get tipped well and—

No, I am not falling for it.

I close the box before turning to face Soobin. “Everything’s good. I just uh—” I look around as I fish my phone out of my pocket. “Sorry, I have to make a call. I’ll be right back.” I snapped my fingers at her as I rush to my bedroom.

And then, I do something I rarely do.

Call my mother.

There’s a forty percent chance that she will be the one who answers this. It’s always usually her assistant. But let’s see.

I stand there as I unconsciously count the rings. By the fifth ring, I should hang up because there’s no chance. I’m used to it an—

“My goodness, why are you calling me at this late hour?” I hear an awfully familiar voice. My mother.

What a ing drama queen—literally. She was officially given the title of Nation’s Good Mom because of her many many motherly roles both in small and big screens. Quite a hilarious title to be given to her, personally speaking. I see no Good. I see no Mom.

It’s still so early, she’s so dramatic.

I let out a struggled grunt when I feel my neck tightening as if there’s a chain strangling me, the moment I heard her voice. “Hi, Miss Mooyeon. Good evening to you too. Uh, you know my birthday’s not until May, right?” I throw in a sarcastic tone, hoping it could reach her to the bone.

“Why, do you need money? Can we just discuss this another time? You’re calling at such a wrong time. I just got home from a long flight, Baekhyun. At least leave an email or message before disrupting my time like this.” I can tell that I’ve upset her because I accidentally hit the forty percent mark chance of her answering the call herself, which rarely happens.

“No, I don’t need money.” I roll my eyes. “Your assistant sent me a gift with a happy birthday card on it. Oh, and by the way, he didn’t even try to remove the evidence that you just grabbed them from your son’s endorsement pile. I appreciate the effort though, I’m sure it’s not easy to even get into that pile.”

There’s a long pause and only her staggered sigh that I hear. “Mr. Cho doesn’t work for me anymore and I hired a new assistant, he might have made a mistake. Just keep it then, it doesn’t matter.” She replies.

“No no no, it matters to me. It’s not my birthday and I am not taking something that’s not meant for me. I will send it back to your kid or to whoever, I don’t care. This is not mine.” I tell her.

“Just do what you want with it. I told my new assistant to get one of the designer brands that Minjun didn’t want. He never used it, it’s new from the box so I don’t know why you’re so upset. You could even sell it if you want. I’ll just have my assistant send another gift on the twelfth of May.” She insists.

I sigh when I feel my fist tightening into a ball. “But what I want is to send it back beca—”

The call ends before I could even finish my sentence. “, it’s the sixth of May,” I mutter under my breath as I head out of the room. I stop when I see Soobin standing by the table, looking down at the box although not touching it.

The card lays open on the table and she must have read it already. Too late.

Soobin looks at me with a slight frown. “Isn’t your birthday on the sixth of May? And who is Lee Mooyeon? Sounds like a name that I’ve heard somewh—”

“It was a mistake and uh—she was uh—she’s just a—” Stutter takes over me as I look around, failing to give an answer.

“One of your clients?” Soobin guesses.

Ew, no.

But I find myself raising my eyebrows as if she got the right answer. Maybe that’s better than having to tell her the truth. “Yeah, you know, the—the one who got obsessed from two years ago. She still bothers me from time to time and will you look at that, she even got my birthday wrong. It’s annoying. She’s annoying.” I fake laugh as I quickly gather the card, the paper bag and the box.

Soobin slowly nods. “Oh … okay.”

, I think I’m going to throw up. I cannot believe I’ve allowed myself to have the slightest picture of that scenario in my head. It’s not like I had a choice. I had to lie.

 “Anyway,” I shove the box and card back into the bag before throwing it to a random corner. “I’m going to start boiling the tea for you.” I head to the kitchen and I feel her follow me from behind.

Our kitchen is fairly small but she seems persistent to watch me do the work. I guess she’s interested to see how it’s done. It’s nothing special, my dad already roasted them which I believe is the more interesting part of the process.

“Have you eaten? Do you have to make dinner as well? I can help you.” I watch in awe when she takes out a ponytail from her pocket and ties her freshly blown out hair up. She awkwardly turns away and shifts her attention to our fridge. “Is there anything we can cook for your dinner? Can I open this?” She asks over her shoulder.

Her eyelashes flutter beautifully as she waits for my a